The Things that Matter Most
by MaiaNight
Summary: Apart from John, Sherlock has never cared for any human being. Nothing but his work matters. Until a young girl asks for his help and guidance. But what happens when Sherlock's actions put her in direct danger? And what does John have to say about this?
1. The Lady and the Detective

A/N: This story will contain Sherlock/OC and John/Sherlock

Chapter 1

"Five…"

A sharp sting in her right side makes her breathe sharply.

"Four…"

The burns the rope leaves on her arms hurt.

"Three…"

Three seconds already?

"Two…"

She has to beat this. She just has to.

"One…"

A loud crack in her shoulder causes her to cry out, but not in pain, as she slips her arm out of the hold.

"Saira what the hell are you doing?"

"I did it! I did it! I escaped! I- OWWW!" She tried to raise her arms in triumph but one of them protested painfully.

"Its dislocated you idiot! What the hell did you think you were doing?" Jo's got one hand on Saira's uninjured arm and the other on her leg, trying her best to hold her down.

"Quit moving, stupid, I'm trying to help!"

"No! Let me! I have to learn to do these things myself!"

Jo lets go of her. Saira doesn't move for a while. She just sits, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side as if contemplating a solution. Her curly black hair has frizzed a considerable amount since she started the experiment. Jo rolls her eyes.

"You're going to have to do it, you know. You can't just try to let it pass like that time you broke your wrist." She says.

Saira glares at her. She knew she had to do it. She wasn't going to repeat what she went through with her wrist. She waited too long to ask for help and it never healed properly. It hasn't been the same since. Sometimes it hurts too much and she has to wear her brace because the bones don't want to pop properly.

_It's time. _She thinks.She places her right hand in front of her left shoulder and gives it a violent jerk. The pain is immeasurable.

"Oh god!" she yells. She didn't do it correctly. It doesn't feel right. She gives Jo a look she knows all too well. She sighs and steps forward. Both hands on the shoulder, she jerks. Ok. It's dislocated again. She can see the pain on her friend's face. She places one hand on the injured shoulder and one on the other. She glances at Saira. Her eyes are shut tight with gritted teeth. With one swift motion the shoulder pops and it's back in place.

"Ohhh," Saira groans. "Thank you. That is so much better." She tentatively lifts her arm, it doesn't hurt as much.

"If I had known you'd do that, I wouldn't have dared you to do it."

"If I had known you wouldn't dare me to do it, I still would have done it." She said with a smirk.

"What the hell was that? Did you know you were going to dislocate your shoulder?" Jo asks.

Saira looks away grudgingly. "I didn't think your knots would be that good."

Pause.

They both burst out laughing. "You always do such horrible things! You only do it to prove you're clever."

"Well at least now I know I can escape from being tied up in forty seconds." Saira says proudly.

She stands up, frowning at her rumpled clothes. She always took such pride in her clothing. Not because she bought expensive brands. She didn't care for trivialities like the difference between Burberry and Dolce & Gabbana. (Not that she could afford any of that with her pitiful detective money.) She took pride in her clothes because no one she knew dressed like her.

Her skirts were short but flowy. They never revealed much because she always sported tights underneath. She had many different colors. Her tops were always pressed, fitted, and in layers. She was very fond of lace cardigans growing up while most girls in her Uni had a penchant for cleavage bearing, skin tight 'shirts' for lack of a better word. And her shoes. She was very fond of her shoes. They closely resembled Oxford Wingtips. They were black and she thought them lovely, whereas anyone who looked at her thought she'd just been dropped on the spot from a different decade. She always said chivalry was dead, but that didn't mean girls had to stop being ladies. And a lady she was.

She ruffles her skirt and straightens her cardigan. Jo is still eyeing her, afraid she's going to do something stupid again.

"You know, you don't have to prove you're clever to me."

Saira looks at her. "To you? You think I do those stupid things because I'm trying to prove I'm clever to you? Jo, I know you know I'm clever. I've shown you enough of my abilities to prove as much. I don't do It for you. I do it for myself. I told you I wondered whether it was possible for me to escape bindings in forty seconds because I truly wanted to know if I could. I wasn't planning on doing it today but when you dared me to do it I thought you wanted to see it. It was mostly for your entertainment, but I truly wanted to prove to myself I could do it. I brought it up. I challenged myself, you had nothing to do with it." Jo's heard this plenty of times before. Saira does something reckless and always takes the blame for it. It's never Jo's fault. Jo never had anything to do with it. Jo never started it.

Not even that time Jo said Saira couldn't leap from the roof of one building to the roof of another. Saira ended up hanging on by one hand to the edge. But she said she wanted to do it. Or the time when they were in Uni and she told Saira she couldn't convince the most popular fraternity she was a guy. She ended up pledging and made it in with flying colors. Then one day she slipped up and her loose bra strap poked out of her t-shirt's sleeve. Luckily she was able to get away before the guys could get to her. And Saira, again, blamed it on her experimenting. She'd said it helped her learn to disguise herself. She never blamed Jo for anything, and she always laughed about it afterwards.

She finds herself smiling at her friend in a daze. Saira frowns a little. "You're scaring me." She says. Jo laughs.

"Let's go." She says brightly. "We've got a long flight to London."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 12 Hours Later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hanes was a kind looking woman. She always had pressed clothes and smelled of cinnamon. She looked very out of place here at the police station. But she didn't mind. She'd spent enough of her time here to be perfectly unmoved by bloody pictures of victims hanging on the walls. It was just another day to her. Everyone passing by gave her a respectful nod and a couple grinned. She knocked on DI Lestrade's office door.

"Come in."

She entered and was greeted by a warm smile on Lestrade's face. "Oh, Mrs. Hanes! How lovely to see you!"

He rose from his chair and hugged her. He was always happy to see her. "How are you, dear?" She asked.

"Oh, very good. Very good." He replied. "I was so glad when you asked to meet with me. It's been a long while since everyone's seen you."

Someone from the outside would have thought this a very unusual thing to say. After all, Mrs. Hanes used to be the Chief Constable here. At one point she was everyone's boss. But that was years ago and even when she was here, she never abused her power or rubbed it in her subordinate's faces. She was an all around kind woman and treated everyone equally. Everyone loved her.

"I know, dear I've just been getting on, you know?" She sighed and he nodded. "I was just wondering if you would humor me one last time."

Lestrade was confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I need a favor, Greg." She smiled her kind smile. "I would never normally be asking for anything of this sort but well it's my granddaughter you see. She's something special, Greg. She really is. And I want the absolute best for her. She just needs a little help getting on."

"I don't understand. What does this have to do with me?"

"Well, she wants to be a full time detective." His face fell. "Oh no, no, don't think that way. She's absolutely brilliant. But she hasn't got much to go on in America. She works night shifts, and only part time. It's almost like they're holding her back. I don't see any way out for her any time soon and she's so incredibly impatient like me and I just hate to see her waste time trying to climb up in a dead end job. With a brain like hers I would have thought she'd be Chief of Police at 25!" she says disappointed.

"I was just wondering if you'd give her a chance. That's all she needs is one chance."

"One chance at what? Solving a case? You want me to give her a case to solve?"

"If it's not too much trouble." She replies.

"Well, I can't exactly do that without flat out hiring her, I mean, I can't just let anyone in to see a case."

She raises her eyebrows at his words. He knows what she's thinking. "Now don't be that way, you know he's helped us a lot over the years."

"Yes and I also know how downright awful that man can be." She huffs.

"But if it works, how can I turn him down when he offers to help?"

"That's exactly what I'm offering now."

He sighs. "Ok. Fine, umm. Let's set a date so I can meet her and call her up when I have a case."

She dials a number on her phone and says, "Alright, come on up, dear."

"Wait! Hold on, now? You're going to have us meet now? I don't even have a case yet!"

"Oh yes you do, dear. I saw the photos out there." She gestures toward the corkboard out in the conference hall. "You won't regret it Greg, I promise!" She says brightly.

A minute later a small knock comes at the door. "Come in."

Saira enters feeling both more timid and excited than she'd been in her entire life, but she gives Lestrade a good, firm handshake.

"Hello, sir, I'm Saira Hanes. I'm looking forward to working with you." She smiled as she said these words and Lestrade couldn't help thinking that it was almost exactly like her grandmother's. Maybe this would be alright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~221B Baker Street~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sherlock!"

That yell was all too familiar. Sherlock groaned on the sofa, burying his face deeper in the cushions. He didn't want to hear complaints right now. He was bored. His head was full to bursting and he was very irritated. And fighting with John won't make it any better. He could hear angry footsteps approaching.

"Sherlock what the hell is this?"

"Animal heads." He replied without looking, his answer muffled by the cushion covering his face.

"On the good china? Why on earth could you possibly need to put animal heads on my good china?"

"I couldn't find the Tupperware."

"You cou-you couldn't find the Tupperware? Sherlock why even have them in the first-"

"It's an experiment." He says lazily. That's always his reason for having awful things in the fridge. John wouldn't mind so much if he didn't throw out perfectly good food to make space or put them on his bloody china.

"I'm bored." Sherlock says. John rolls his eyes.

"Its not my fault."

"I know that."

"So how come you're complaining?"

"How can you not? It's so dull here!" Sherlock does a weird sort of flail on the sofa. He sits upright. "I'm going to text Lestrade. I know there's a case. I know there's something. I know something has to be going on."

"If there was something, he would have texted you already." John replies while washing his hands. He's still disgusted by the contents of the fridge. "I'm hungry. You owe me food." Sherlock laughs.

"Is that all it takes? Alright then let's go. We'll go to Bella's."

John groans. "You just want to go there because it's close to the station. You want to harass Lestrade after dinner."

"You'll be fed by then what do you care what happens after dinner?" Sherlock replies already having put on his coat and scarf.

They head downstairs and hail a cab. Sherlock taps at his knee impatiently.

"Sherlock, you do realize you have to stay with me if we're going to dinner?"

"Hmm? What?" he replies, clearly not listening.

John swats at his hand, getting his attention. "You can go see Lestrade after you've had dinner." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you want, John." And John smiles.

It's a short cab ride to the restaurant and they make their way to their usual table. John groans. Two tables away is Lestrade himself. But he's not by himself. He's sitting with a rather pretty girl in her 20's. A date? No, Lestrade is married. Isn't he? John really doesn't know. Lestrade's personal life never really crossed his mind till now. He's only ever seen him when he was working on a case.

As expected, Sherlock walked right past John toward Lestrade. Damn. He was actually hoping for a pleasant evening tonight. Reluctantly, he gets closer.

"It's been a week and you haven't given me any word." Sherlock says.

"I-well-I've been-I mean-there hasn't been anything for you to help with." Lestrade stammers.

He clearly didn't expect us to find him here, let alone on a date. John looks at her more closely. She doesn't seem surprised or upset with Sherlock's demeanor. Was that a grin? No, it can't be. Nobody grins when they see Sherlock in one of his moods. She was very pretty though. She had long curly black hair, dainty hands, and a modest but attractive style of dress. He'd never seen someone pull off the 50's era look before as perfectly as she did. She was wearing a short but voluminous black floral skirt over slightly sheer black tights, her light pink cardigan was tucked into her skirt making it all look like one piece. Her legs were crossed and on her feet were what looked like tap shoes. No, Oxfords? He'd never met such a young woman who wore Oxfords. She looked almost like a school teacher…but more attractive. Much, MUCH more attractive. If Lestrade weren't out with her how, John might have asked her out himself.

"Sherlock this is-"

"Oh don't insult me. I know perfectly well who that is." Sherlock replies.

'Oh no.' John groans.

"She has curly black hair with a distinctive widow's peak. Her facial structure and eye shape are distinctly familiar. Her attire is not disheveled but her body is. There are slight bags under her eyes indicating she's lost a large amount of sleep the past few days. Her right eye has a slight twitch meaning her body wants to sleep and it wants to sleep now. But it's only 8pm right now meaning she probably lost sleep last night because she was highly uncomfortable. She has a pinch in her neck meaning she tried to sleep sitting up but it didn't work and she can't have gotten more than 2 hours' rest. She's obviously from out of town. Out of the country, in fact, seeing as how she didn't know or didn't bother to look up the weather here to pack a decently warm coat. But ah, yes I remember whose face she has. It has to be dear Mrs. Hanes doesn't it? She has that distinct dark green shade to her eyes that Mrs. Hanes has. But it can't be a daughter, no she's too young, so granddaughter. The granddaughter living in America? Quite probable. What I can't imagine however, is what you two could be having dinner for?"

Lestrade had his hands buried during his entire monologue and shoots an apologetic look at her. She grins and waves it away.

She takes a sip of her drink and looks at him, taking in everything in a matter of seconds. "And you, sir? You're wearing an awfully expensive looking suit which has been tailored to your precise measurements seeing as how the top buttons on your shirt are so very strained. You're wearing expensive high maintenance clothes yet it is a perfectly normal day. That means you like to impress. You're not on a date. You don't have any romantic feelings toward this man standing next to me. You obviously aren't related but you are very close. The words friends doesn't seem to explain it enough. He puts up with your lack of tact and poor social skills. Your hair is fussed up like you haven't bothered to comb it after laying down. And yes you were laying down, your shirt and jacket are crumpled. You didn't have anything to do so were you taking a nap? I don't think so, you seem very awake at the moment. DI Lestrade here was just telling me how impatient and irritated you get when you don't have a case. You have proved this to be true when you barged in on our dinner. We haven't even gotten our breadsticks yet, for goodness sake. So lack of social skills? Refusing to let people have a pleasant evening? Making rude remarks? And recounting to everyone present my life story without even introducing yourself to a lady? You, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, are a jerk."

She takes another sip of her drink and dabs her lips with her napkin while all three men stare at her in shock.

A/N: Reviews would be very much appreciated. Chapter 2 coming up soon!


	2. Opposites Attract

Chapter 2

Sherlock stares at her, completely taken aback with no idea how to reply. Lestrade grins knowingly. Was he expecting this? John just smiles.

"Wow." He lets slip. Sherlock gives him a sharp look. She tosses her hair back, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn't, John speaks again.

"Hello, my name is John Watson." He extends a hand.

She smiles back and shakes it. "Hello Dr. Watson, I'm Saira Hanes. You know, my best friend is also a doctor I should have you two meet." John nods. He would love to meet her if her friend is anything like the surprising young woman sitting in front of him.

"Please, sit." She gestures toward the empty chair beside her. "There's no sense in parting ways for dinner anymore since we've now been properly introduced." She looks at Sherlock. "You can sit too if you'd like. You don't mind, do you sir?" She asks Lestrade.

"No, not at all. And please, call me Greg."

She shakes her head. "I can't do that, sir. If you're going to hire me we should keep it as proper as possible. Propriety is important."

Sherlock scoffed but she didn't seem to hear. John shot him a look that clearly said 'Not tonight. Behave yourself even if just for one night' at which Sherlock promptly rolled his eyes.

"DI Lestrade's been telling me about you two." She says brightly. "The cases you've helped solve and the criminals you've put down. Very exciting stories."

"Why would he be telling you about us?" Sherlock asks.

"Why don't we order dinner first?" She replies without looking at him. "I think I'll have the chicken. What do you think?" She asks John. He can practically feel himself going red.

"Um well I always get the shrimp alfredo pasta. It's very good."

She nods looking at her menu, "Yes, alright I'll have that."

Sherlock watches her. Why bring up something as trivial as dinner when there were obviously more important matter to discuss. He glances at Lestrade but he hasn't taken his eyes off her. What the hell was going on? Why was this girl here? And what did she mean she might be hired? She's far too young to be a detective inspector.

Sherlock orders nothing and just listens to the others making useless conversation. There's white wine poured and anecdotes told all around. She does like to entertain, he notes. She has proper posture, and holds herself so well she seems like she was trained. She leans her head back when she laughs, almost as if to taste it before she lets it out. Her eyes practically twinkle when John or Lestrade tell one of their stories or recount a past case fondly. Was she truly interested? Or was she just trying to save face? She drinks more water than wine, something neither Lestrade nor John bother to do. She dabs her mouth with her napkin with every bite, but uses such strong lipstick the napkin remains unsmudged and her lips are still very coral by the end of the evening.

John is absolutely giddy. Sherlock rolls his eyes. Oh great. Another conquest in the works. He knew exactly how this would end. He'd ask her out and she'd accept. Then after a few dates John has to skip because of work with Sherlock she'd break up with him and John would blame it on Sherlock. It wasn't his fault none of his girlfriends appreciated the dangerous work they did. She doesn't acknowledge him for almost the entire evening. She's waiting for him to say something first.

"You know, you are the first person to not think Sherlock and I were together." John says and Sherlock pauses his thoughts for a moment to listen.

"Well of course you aren't!" She laughed. "I highly doubt Sherlock would ever choose to be in a relationship-especially with a man."

"And how would you know?" Sherlock snapped.

"I don't know, I notice." She replies without looking at him.

Both John's and Lestrade's forks stop midbite, hovering in front of their chins. That remark was a very 'Sherlock' thing to say. John could almost swear he'd said it himself at some point but he couldn't remember when. Sherlock's eyes widen slightly but she's toobusy taking another sip of her drink to notice. He looks at John who has a look of sheer bewilderment on his face. He shakes his head and shrugs.

"Problem?" Sherlock asks.

"Hmm?" She replies.

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"Oh, no dear. I've no problem with you at all. I'm just trying to make sure I draw the lines between us as clear as possible."

"Why?"

"Well because Mr. Lestrade and I were going to ask you if you would work together…with me."

Pause.

"Work with you? And why would you want to work with me? I don't even get paid for this." He was confused but was determined not to reveal it.

"Sherlock," Lestrade starts. "Mrs. Hanes asked me to give her chance. She wants to be a detective. She really wants to work her way up and she's been having no luck in America."

"But why were you ever in America?" Sherlock asks. "You've no American accent. You were clearly born and raised here."

She nods. "It's been a while. I went to Uni in America. And I really liked it there. I met my best friend there. After I graduated, I couldn't move back and leave everything and her behind. Jo is really important to me. She even came here with me. But lately, it's been very frustrating there. I don't have a very good job. Just part time night shifts. I don't know what I'm doing wrong or what is holding me back. I've tried my best but obviously it hasn't been enough. I told my grandmother this and luckily, since she loves me so, she said she'd try to help me out. So she asked Lestrade to give me a chance. That's all I'm asking for, is a chance to prove myself. Prove what I can do. I need a better future. And I was hoping you'd help me make it." She looked at him. And for the first time that night, her eyes were kind to him. All evening they were passive toward him but now, she sincerely looked like he was her last hope.

"She's already done a splendid job, Sherlock." Lestrade says. "I took her on her first case today. Took ten minutes to find the murder weapon and only five to locate his tracks. It took less than an hour to solve it." The fact that her work was just as impressive as Sherlock's goes unsaid.

Sherlock leans closer to her, "What do you need?"

Her eyes brighten, "Oh I just need a chance. Just let me work with you on a few cases. I'll show you what I can do, I promise. I'll do all the work if need be. I can always have Jo help me. All you have to do is supervise if you'd like. And I won't be any trouble. I promise –"

He holds up a hand to stop her. "That won't be necessary. I'll always be there to supervise. As long as you don't get in my way, we'll be fine. I investigate, you watch from afar. You'll offer input when asked, understood?"

She nods. "Yes, yes of course. I won't let you regret it, Mr. Holmes, I promise."

"Don't make promises. And please, call me Sherlock."

She smiles at him. It's a warm smile, and Sherlock wasn't used to being on the receiving end of them. He did like her however. Her strong demeanor and need to keeping everything as business reminded him of someone. He manages to upturn one corner of his mouth. It was a sincere smile. And he pours himself some wine and raises his glass to her.

"To new learning."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~At the girls' flat~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jo hears the jingle of keys at the door before Saira enters the flat. She's curled up on an armchair reading a medical journal when her friend came in. She can see by the look of utter happiness on her face just how the evening went but she asks anyway.

"So how'd it go?"

"It was wonderful!" She exclaims. "DI Lestrade brought me on a case. On my first day! He let me take rein of the case for a while and we found the suspect. He was hiding in the backseat of a car about a mile away from the crime scene. He was so surprised and pleased and it was wonderful!"

She takes off her shoes and plops down beside Jo. She bites her lip and continues, "I know I wasn't prepared for it today, but I met him."

Jo's eyes widen. "What? You did? When?"

"Lestrade and I were having a business dinner after the case. We wanted to celebrate, you know. Well, I did. It was mostly me who wanted to celebrate but anyhow- He showed up. He showed up with his friend before we could even order."

"How was he?"

Saira groans. "He's just as bad as grandmother said. He really does have no filter." She sighs. "He didn't even properly introduce himself. He just told my life story before even saying so much as a hello. He's …eccentric. I don't understand him much, but I know how he thinks. He thinks like me." She smiles.

"You ought to meet his friend. Dr. John Watson. He's a handsome fellow. Maybe you'd get along."

"Me?" Jo asks. "He wouldn't be interested in me."

"Nonsense, if I find you interesting, then he will most definitely find you interesting. Look who he has as a best friend. I got very nervous though. When he walked up to us, I couldn't find what to say. And then his lack of manners thoroughly inspired me."

Jo groaned. "Oh god, what did you tell him?" It wouldn't be the first time Saira messed up a meeting because she was rude. She lacked a filter sometimes too.

"I called him a jerk."

"What? But why would you do that? He'll never want to work with you now!"

"Oh but he did. He already said yes. I'm so happy right now! This will be the start! This is it Jo! We'll finally be able to make our presence known. We'll have proper careers now!"

"Alright alright, calm down. You don't want to go spoiling this by speaking out of turn." But Jo can't help but smile also. Here she is, in London with her best friend. She'd left her empty life behind and was going to start a new one with her. They're finally exiting the poor college student phase, even if it is a couple years too late. They have a beautiful flat. A good promise for jobs. Saira is finally home after so long and they are happy. They are actually truly happy for the first time in a long while. She may be American and might never have stepped foot here in London, but she felt completely at home. She mentally thanks Mrs. Hanes for all that she's doing. God knows they'd still be sitting back in their pitiful apartment in America had she not been told their situation. She hugged her best friend before announcing she needed to sleep. They both did. They had a long past couple of nights. And tomorrow is a big day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Baker Street~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John and Sherlock walked back to their flat in silence. Well, the word 'walked' here actually means John stumbled around and had to grab hold of Sherlock's arm multiple times to steady himself so they could even make it back in the first place. Had he really drunk all that wine? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything at the moment. Why had he drunk so much? He wasn't a drinker. On occasion he'd have a beer or a glass of wine but Jesus, he really crossed the line this time.

"I'm never drinking again." He hiccups.

"You're lucky I'm here to help." Sherlock snaps.

"Hehehe I guess I am!"

"Why you decided to drink so much tonight I'll never know. That was a horrible first impression John."

John looks at him confused. "Her? That was a bad first impression for her? What the hell do you care what her first impression was? You never care what anyone thinks about you. You weren't the one who was drunk."

"Nonsense. She is a lady, John. You could have behaved yourself."

John laughs. "A lady? Just because she was wearing a cardigan? Sherlock. Schoolteachers wear cardigans." He sniggered. "And they're usually the kinkiest of the lot!" He roared with laughter in between hiccups.

"Shut up, John." Sherlock lets him go at the top of the stairs and John sways back so far he nearly topples downstairs again.

"Hey! A little help'd be nice!"

"Help yourself."

"What's gotten in to you? Are you annoyed because you have to help her now? You could've said yes if you didn't want to that bad. Instead of bringing her hopes up."

Sherlock ignores him and picks up his violin by the window. He continues to play deftly through the night, not really knowing what he was playing. At times it was Bach, then Tchaikovsky, then Monet, then he'd go on for a full hour just playing something of his own invention. His parts were the fastest and happiest.

.

A/N: Reviews or feedback would be lovely!


	3. Is it Music or Magic?

Chapter 3

Time has the funny habit of speeding up when you're happy. It also has the unfortunate tendency to slow down when you're upset. For Saira, Sherlock, and Jo, the next few weeks after the dinner went by in a complete happy blur. For John, they dragged on at a horrid pace.

Saira had turned out to be everything Lestrade had promised, if not more. Every case that came by was solved. Every suspect, arrested. The time it took to solve them was cut in half with both Saira and Sherlock working together. It was very entertaining to watch them both get excited as they entered a crime scene. Sherlock had told her to only share input when asked to, but she'd quickly flung that notion out the window on their very first case.

Now when they're working they practically finish each other's sentences. One starts a deduction, and the other joins instantly. It almost became a game to both of them. Who can see the most clues? Who can come up with the most theories? Whose deductions are going to be right? They were both so very competitive.

Saira didn't bother hiding her happiness. She'd smile from the moment she entered, to the moment the suspect got arrested. Sherlock was more reserved. He'd join in the game, speak faster, raise his pitch a bit higher, but he'd always keep his hands behind his back, always keep distance from showing emotion. John was the only one who could see through it.

John was the only one who could know that when Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away from Saira when she said something funny that it wasn't disapproval or annoyance. He was trying to hide his grin. He'd look down and avoid her eyes not because he was ignoring her, but because the corner of his mouth was twitching to smile. When she managed to find a clue before he did, his eyes would glance at her, even for just a split second. And John knew it was a stolen moment of admiration. His eyes would twinkle and he'd clear his throat. Instead of facing her to comment on her deduction, he'd look at John and say it because he can't look at her without hiding the fact that he was pleased.

For some reason John couldn't explain, this annoyed him very much. He was fine with Saira when he was with her alone on an errand Sherlock asked of them, and Jo was fantastic. She was the only one who paid more attention to John than Sherlock. But for some reason, when Saira and Sherlock were together having fun at a crime scene, it bothered John. Sherlock didn't see it of course. He was busy sharing his brilliance with Saira, who was apparently the only one who could keep up with him.

Maybe he was annoyed because she'd come out of nowhere and entered their lives unannounced. Maybe it was because he thought he'd fancied her first. Wait, no. He couldn't have fancied her first because Sherlock couldn't fancy her at all. John just thought she was good looking. Well, he thought she was pretty. No, he thought she was stunning.

She was refreshingly different from all the other women he'd dated. She was so proper and polite and lady-like, but she's also the only person John had ever known to talk back to Sherlock Holmes and actually have good comebacks. Usually someone picking a fight with Sherlock would last 2 lines and then be torn down by Sherlock's extensive vocabulary and wit. But Saira could go on and on with him bickering and arguing, with both of them shooting insults at top speed.

Jo was either indifferent to all this or had become desensitized over time. She'd once told John that Saira hates confrontation. She never argued with anyone even when she knew she was right. She'd prove them wrong shortly afterwards anyway. Jo had said Saira only truly picks fights and argues with someone when she liked them and considered them a friend. It was sort of her way of showing affection. And only those who'd known her for as long as Jo had would know that when Saira says, "You lazy milk guzzling slob!" she actually means, "That was rather funny, we should do it again, dear." John had no clue what to make of this twisted logic and refrained from telling Sherlock. It would no doubt confuse him and cause him to question it too much.

Six weeks went by like this. A new case came up every few days and the free time they had in between was spent with each other. The girls would go over to 221B and would hang around there and they'd go out to dinner. On other days, John and Sherlock would go over to their flat as well. Sherlock felt a bit out of place the first time they did this. Saira noticed and asked him to bring his violin the next time he visited. They were back the next day as promised.

Saira had led them into the sitting room where she had a piano. It was sheer dumb luck that the landlord had left it there. She loved to play. John joined Jo at the breakfast table. They'd made a routine of discussing the latest medical journals for fun. It wasn't often he could actually talk to someone about medicine. Sherlock didn't exactly count as he always lost focus and mentally went elsewhere.

Sherlock took out his violin, prepared it, and tuned it. All the while Saira just sat next to him on the couch with her legs folded under her. She watched him handle the violin lovingly. She knew it must be a very important instrument. It was quite old but it was very well preserved. Like he'd polished it at every chance he got.

He was starting to lose focus of his surroundings as he concentrated on preparing the violin. She placed a hand on his forearm, and he tensed a little as he was snapped back to reality. Without a word, she stood up and placed herself in front of the piano. She glanced at him and took a breath before playing the first sad notes of Moonlight Sonata. This takes a moment to register for Sherlock. Why had she chosen this song? It's not exactly a happy tune.

She wondered what he was thinking. He was just looking at her. Then to her relief, he put his bow to his violin and joined in. At the same place she was. Their notes melded together so perfectly it was hard to distinguish which instrument it came from. Neither missed a single note, and neither lost the tune. At one point they both looked up at the same time to each other. They held each other's gaze while still playing with deft hands. Saira smiled at him after a minute of this and he actually managed a grin back. This was fun. He enjoyed this. He was glad he came.

As the fast part came up, they broke eye contact and faced their instruments, each determined not to mess up. Both had been playing since they were very young. Sherlock had more experience though, as he was older than her. They both finished the piece with a flourish. She beamed at him, expecting him to look happy, but he exhaled and looked away. What was going on?

She watched him, confused. Had she done something wrong? He didn't look back at her. And they sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. She'd hoped this would make him feel more comfortable here. Music always made her feel better so…was it just not the same for him?

She turned back to the piano and continued playing. This was a composition of her own. Something she'd been working on for a few weeks before she came to London. It was supposed to be fast paced and happy, but it came out slow and melancholy. She made no gesture to him and didn't speak a word.

He looked at her, and then glanced in the direction of the kitchen. The breakfast table was out of sight so he couldn't see John and Jo. But he knew that they'd heard them playing. The flat wasn't very big. He looked back at her. She was concentrating on playing with her brows furrowed slightly, her hair covering part of her face. He'd never heard this song before. It was lovely. It was quite, quite lovely. He put his bow to his violin again and stated playing, a long, sad, single note which complemented her chords perfectly. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing but he kept on playing. They both did.

Neither of them said a word but they went on playing their tools, making beautiful music neither of them had ever made before. It was only after several minutes of playing she finally paused. He looked at her.

"This is the part I always get stuck at. I don't know how to continue." She said quietly.

Sherlock moves closer to her. "Just keep going. It'll come." He replied softly.

Her fingers hovered over the keys for a moment and she tried a note.

Sour.

She tried again.

Sour.

She tried again.

Stale.

That was the worst one. She's ready to say she gives up.

His hands come up from behind her in a strange backwards embrace and grab hold of her hands. He moves her fingers over the keys, playing new notes, new combinations. She can feel his curly hair against her cheek. His breathing was steady as he controlled her hands. She didn't dare look at his face. Not while it was so close to hers.

After a while he said, "Go on." He let go of her hands and readied himself with his violin. She continued the tune. It's faster now, and sharp. She didn't hesitate anymore. It all came to her almost at once, and she hardly knew how her fingers could be playing so fast. She barely had time to contemplate the next note when her hands were already playing it. He kept pace with her, making his music just as fast, just as pleasant. They finished the piece and Saira was practically squealing with glee.

She jumped up hugged him without warning. She finally finished the piece! It was done and it was perfect! Sherlock froze at the display of emotion he was not expecting. She dropped her 'proper' demeanor so fast sometimes it made him dizzy. After a few moments, Saira realized that the hug was not being reciprocated. She backed away from him slightly, not knowing what his reaction would be. She hoped she hadn't upset him.

"Thank you." She said awkwardly.

"For what?" He asked.

"For helping me."

Pause.

"I never would have finished it without you. " She grinned. "We should do this more often. I really liked it. It's nice to have someone to play with. Jo doesn't play any instruments." Her eyes widened as she said her name and her head whipped around in the direction of the kitchen. She wondered whether they'd heard any of that.

"Uhh, maybe we should go get them out of the kitchen?" she said without waiting for a response.

They both made their way to the dining table in silence. Jo and John were there, happily telling more hospital stories. Dozens of medical journals were spread across the table in front of them and they were both sipping cups of tea.

"Maybe we should go to dinner now?" Saira asked.

They both looked up to them. "Ok, sure."

"Where would you like to go?" Saira asked Sherlock.

"Wherever you want." He replied.

Jo and John exchanged glances and both looked at their best friends. They'd heard every note they had played and every word they had said. Jo was a bit worried and John was annoyed. They hoped their friends knew what they were getting into, for Jo and John's sakes.

…

All of that was five weeks ago. John and Sherlock go over to the girls' place about twice a week. Sherlock brings his violin every time. They haven't had such an intense moment since that first day. They're both pretending it never happened. And it seems like John and Jo are determined not to let it happen again. They stay in the sitting room now, while Sherlock and Saira play. None of them really speak. They have no need to.

Silence can be so very uncomfortable when you're with some people. You feel the need to say something. Anything, to fill the void and empty space. When you find someone you can sit down with and have no verbal exchange without a single passing thought, you know you've found someone special. This is how it was for the four friends. They'd sit still in the sitting room and just listen. Sherlock and Saira would play while Jo and John read. They never truly agreed on this routine, it had just fallen into place. And it was wonderful. It was intimate. It was perfect.

Until the phone rang.

…

Saira looks up in alarm. Was that really? No- it couldn't be. Could it? Did she really just hear a very inappropriate sound coming from Sherlock's pocket? All eyes are on him now. His face is steely as he reaches for the mobile in his pocket. He looks at it without a word and tucks it away again. He catches John's eye.

The warm air that had been sitting comfortably around them suddenly chilled. Saira suddenly feels very uncomfortable. She looks at Jo, not knowing if she should say something. What had that noise been? And why was John's expression worrying her? Was it another case? Are we being called somewhere?

"Sherlock?" She manages.

"We have to leave." He says. Not really to her but to the empty air in front of him.

"Sherlock what's wrong? What's going on?" But he already has his scarf and coat on. "John? John can you please tell me what-" He shakes his head at her, his eyes not really focused.

Jo sits on the couch, watching as everything happens, stunned. She watches Saira try to get John to talk, while Sherlock leaves without a word. John manages a small 'I'm sorry' before following him out the door.

Saira looks at her helplessly. "Did you hear that too? You heard it, right? There's no way I imagined that. It was like a woman's…moan." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Yeah I heard it as well. Must have been important to make him storm out like that."

Saira watches the door, half expecting them to come back. But they don't. They sit and watch in silence for the entrance that doesn't come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~221B~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sherlock, hold on. Sherlock! Wait!" John could hardly keep up with Sherlock's long strides. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the girls' flat. He'd hailed the first cab in sight and sat inside staring at the floor. He didn't speak and John had to tell the cabbie where to go. He wasn't sure how, but he knew they were going back to 221B. He was terrified of what could be waiting there. Well, he knew what would be waiting for them. He just didn't know what she would want.

Sherlock takes the steps up to the flat two at a time and stops in front of the door, waiting for John to catch up. He lingers for a few moments. His face has no expression. He turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open. Everything is silent.

"I do hope you don't plan on keeping me waiting much longer," Comes a voice from the sofa, which is facing away from the entrance.

John pushes past Sherlock, who still has not moved. He looks at her. She has a slight smirk on her face as she subtly looks him up and down.

"What are you doing here, Irene?"

…

A/N: And here is chapter 3. I do hope you like it! :) 3


	4. Ultimatum

Chapter 4

She looks considerably less impressive than when they last saw her. She's like a dusty mannequin version of the Irene they once knew. Her clothes aren't as flashy and her makeup isn't as dramatic, but it is definitely her. Irene fakes a pout. "Don't I at least deserve a 'hello,' John?"

He doesn't respond. A rock quickly settles in his stomach. He instantly feels regret for leaving the girls in such a hurry. He and Sherlock shouldn't be here. They should be with their friends. Saira and Sherlock should be arguing right now about where to go out to dinner while Jo and John sip tea and watch the _Battle of Wits_ as they've come to call it. Saira would win and the girls would lead the way, arm in arm. Seeing Irene here, sitting on their couch without a care in the world, it infuriated him. It made him so very angry and it took all the strength he could muster to not throw her out of the flat.

"Oh come now, John. I haven't done anything to upset you."

"Yet." He finishes, trying to keep a steady voice.

She scoffs. "I'm honestly here to help."

"You and I have very different definitions of the word 'honest.'"

"Oh don't bring morals into this. It's just a social gathering."

"I have no intention of being social with you." He said more harshly than he'd intended.

"Oh don't you, John? I've been hiding for so long I haven't had a chance to be _social_ in a long while." She smiles at him and reaches up to touch chest, but a hand swats hers away.

"Now how did I know that would get you running?" She bites her bottom lip while she looks him up and down. "Hello, Sherlock. I've missed you."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asks, ignoring her comment.

"Oh, can't we just take a moment to catch up?"

"Why are you here?" He repeats.

Her smile drops and she collapses on the sofa once more, shaking her head. "You haven't changed at all."

"I could say the same for you."

"I meant what I said in the text I sent you. I need your help."

"Why would you want our help?" John asks before Sherlock could.

"He's back." She says without looking at either of them.

"What?"

"Could I get a cup of tea?"

"What do you mean he's back?" John almost yells.

"Well it means what it says, John. He's back." She pauses. "And he's after me."

John buries his face in his hands. He had not expected this. He could not expect this. He had hoped, _prayed_, that Moriarty's absence for the past three months had meant he was going to leave them alone. He thought he was done having fun with them and would just let them have peace. What was Irene doing here? She was supposed to be dead. Even _Mycroft_ thought she was dead! He can't think clearly. His head is spinning and it hurts.

"Get out." He says, shutting his eyes tightly in an effort to stop the floor from moving.

"What?"

"Get out." John repeats, more firmly this time.

"But-"

"I said get out! I want nothing to do with you. I want you to leave. Last time you were here-" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "You cause nothing but problems for us. I'll not have you in our home. Leave." John says harshly.

Irene glances at Sherlock, who was in turn, staring at John. Where had that outburst come from?

"John, maybe" Sherlock starts. "Maybe we should hear her out."

John shakes his head. "No, Sherlock. No. I will not have this. If he's after her, that is her business. It's her problem. Get out of our flat, Irene."

She looks from one to the other with a slight grin on her face. "I see you still quarrel like an old married couple."

John takes a small crystal figurine sitting on the coffee table and hurls it at the wall behind Irene, missing her by inches.

"_Get out of our flat!" _

"John!" Sherlock steps in between them. John looks murderous. "John, that was uncalled for! That wasn't necessary. You could have hurt her."

"Like I give a shit." John growls. "Get her out of this house, Sherlock. Or I will."

Sherlock looks in John's eyes. He'd never seen him so angry before. He's in no state to be making decisions right now. He turns to Irene and clears his throat. "I think it would be best if you left."

Irene stares at Sherlock almost not daring to believe him. After a few moments she swallows. "Fine. I'll be off now. Do think about what I said. I won't have much of a fighting chance…on my own." She stands and turns toward the doorway.

"I truly hope to see you again." She says over her shoulder before leaving the flat.

Sherlock turns back to John. "What was that about?" He asks calmly.

John ignores him and starts toward his room. Sherlock catches him by his arm. "What's the matter with you?"

John wrenches his arm from Sherlock's grip. "All she needs is a second glance from you, Sherlock. You give her that and she'll have you like last time."

"Oh and you don't think I've learned from my mistakes, is that it?"

"Sherlock you're a man. When it comes to women, no man ever learns from his mistakes."

"If he's after her, there must be a very good reason."

John glares at him. "Really, Sherlock? Think about what you just said. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Sherlock doesn't reply.

John shakes his head, disappointed. "That's what I thought." He makes toward his room again but stops and faces him once more.

"You know, when we first met you said you didn't have a girlfriend because it _wasn't really your area. _You said relationships were just a distraction. But from what I've been seeing recently, you think you're ready to be distracted. I'm here to tell you you're not."

He pulls out something shiny from his pocket and tosses it at Sherlock with more force than was necessary. He's up the stairs before Sherlock can respond. He looks at the object in his hand. It's the silver hair pin Saira had left in his room 2 weeks ago. He'd been keeping it on his bedside table, for safe keeping. He looks toward John's bedroom door at the top of the stairs. How long had he known it was there?

He sighs and tucks it into his pocket. "Oh John…"

…

Sherlock hardly sleeps that night. He rests then wakes up, rests, wakes up and repeats the process for hours. Finally, at dawn, he gives up. He showers and makes himself ready for the day. While standing in the shower, he goes over the previous night's altercation for the 52nd time while the hot water washes over him. Irene has no reason to be asking them for help. She always has a plan. But then again, Sherlock _had_ destroyed any scrap of insurance she had. Her famous phone and all her secrets had been destroyed. She is practically homeless. She has no friends that he knows of and it wouldn't matter either way. She's pretending to be dead. She can't go announcing to the world she's been living this entire time.

Sherlock rubs his face with the hot water. He hadn't meant to upset John so much. He knows he shouldn't care. Or maybe he should? He's still so new to this friendship business. He doesn't know how to react or what to say. Then he remembers the hairpin. Sherlock groans. He shouldn't have let that just lay about.

_John thinks there's something going on between me and Saira._ He thinks. _But that's absurd. He knows how seriously I take my work. _

But then why would he have been so upset over it? This was so confusing to Sherlock. None of it was making sense. He decides to just sit John down and talk to him over breakfast. It's better than nothing. He has to say something, he can't just leave last night how it was and pretend it never happened.

He exits the shower and puts on a clean suit. There's still a couple more hours till John wakes up so he starts going over his thoughts. He has to be careful about what he says. He can't say anything hurtful or accusing. _Why is this so difficult? _

John eventually wakes up but doesn't come downstairs. Sherlock can hear him shuffling him around in his room, trying to distract himself with anything. He sighs impatiently. He's just wasting time. After another half hour of meaningless tidying up in his room, he eventually comes down. He nods at Sherlock and goes into the kitchen to make his breakfast.

_Well at least he acknowledged me. Damn. Why hadn't I thought of making breakfast for him? No, wait. Was that even appropriate as an apology? What do friends do after a fight?_

Sherlock clears his throat. John ignores him. He tries again, but John still ignores him. He's making more noise than was necessary to make breakfast. Sherlock finally stands up and takes the cereal box from John's hand.

"We have to talk."

John ignores him and opens the fridge. He has to move a jar of what looks like human thumbs to get the milk out.

"John-"

"No, Sherlock." He sits in a chair facing him and stares at the floor. "I know what you want to talk about. I know you probably want me to apologize, but I won't. I have no reason to apologize. And I know you want to help her. I'm telling you that you shouldn't."

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

John looks up at him. He was starting to get irritated. "Then what?"

Sherlock takes out the hairpin. John lets out an exasperated sigh. "What's this about, then?" He asks.

"This is Saira's hairpin." Sherlock starts slowly. He can tell John is starting to get very angry and he did not want a repeat of last night's fight.

"I know where it came from." John says, trying to keep his voice even. "What I want to know is what the hell it was doing in your room."

"She'd dropped it on my floor when she was there. I only just found it two days ago, under my bed. It was that first time we gave the girls a proper tour, remember? I hadn't wanted to show them my room for weeks and I finally gave in? You were there with me." He pauses, not sure how to word this. "I never had her in my room by myself." He finishes. John doesn't respond and looks away.

"Is that what you were thinking? That I had brought her 'round one day?" John still doesn't answer. "John, Saira and I are colleagues, nothing more. We've-_I've_ never done anything with her. I mean, we're friends now. All of us are. You, me, Saira, and Jo. That's what we are, is it not? We're just friends."

John considered this. Sherlock did seem sincere. He may try to mask his emotions, but John been getting quite good at deciphering his facial expressions. He looked slightly worried and there was a hint of anxiety in his eyes. He thought of his words before saying them aloud.

"So you've never done anything with her?"

"No."

"Never flirted with her?"

"No."

"Never flirted _at_ her?"

"_No._" Now it was Sherlock who was starting to get irritated. That last remark made it sound like Sherlock had feelings for Saira and were not being reciprocated. "Why would it matter to you anyway?"

John ignores the question. "Are you going to help Irene?"

"I thought we were dissecting my social life."

"Answer the question, Sherlock. Are you going to help Irene?" He repeats.

"Yes." Sherlock says, with the most defiance he can muster.

John nods for a few moments. He bites his lip, thinking. Sherlock waits for him to respond but he seems to be having an internal war with himself. When he finally speaks, Sherlock wishes he hadn't.

"Well, I guess that's it then." He stands up and leaves the kitchen, heading for his room.

"That's what?" Sherlock asks.

John ignores him and enters his room and takes a suitcase out of his closet. He has no idea what he's doing. It's as if his body is leading the way, leaving his mind a couple steps back. Sherlock follows close behind.

"Hold on, what are you doing?" Sherlock asks.

"You're a consulting detective and you can't even deduce that your own friend is leaving when he's right in front of you?" John snaps.

"Leaving? You can't leave. You live here. Everything you own is here. We're-" he doesn't know how to respond. He was about to say '_We're always together_' but for some reason, can't.

"Sherlock, I am showing you how serious I am about that woman. You help her, and I'll leave. I don't care if it's immature. I don't care if it's being bratty. I don't care about anything so long as you do not help her."

Sherlock is shocked beyond words. John has never behaved this way. He's never given Sherlock an ultimatum. He's always listened to Sherlock and done what he was told. He's chased down criminals and killed a man in Sherlock's defense.

"I don't understand why you're being like this. It's just Irene. And you know how Moriarty is. It's up to me to-"

"_NO_ Sherlock. Nothing is up to you. This is police business. You're a consulting detective not a bodyguard for Christ's sake! For _once_ in your life just _listen_ to me and let the police handle this."

He's shoving handfuls of clothes in his case by now, not even bothering to fold them or distinguish the dirty clothes from the clean ones.

"But Moriarty-"

"Has left us _alone_ for the past 3 months! For all you know, he's given up on us and leaving us be for good!" He can feel his voice start to break and he has to stop talking for fear of crying.

He can't even explain how selfish Sherlock is being. Because if he were to explain it, he'd have to start at the beginning. He'd have to start with the nightmares. John's been having them since that night at the pool. It's always the same. He's standing there, in darkness while a smug little voice talks to him in his ear. Telling him that if he deviates from a single word, he'd be shot and the heavy explosives bound to his body would make sure no one would find a single piece of him.

He relives that evening in its entirety once or twice a week. He wakes up in a cold sweat, clutching his covers while his head throbs. He's never cried, though. He's a soldier, he draws the line at that amount of emotion.

"Where will you go?" Sherlock demands, ripping John from his thoughts.

"It doesn't matter." He replies without looking at him.

"Of course it matters!" Sherlock shouts, his irritation increasing by the second.

John ignores him and finishes packing the last of his clothes, slamming the lid. He pushes past Sherlock and runs down the stairs, Sherlock still following him. John doesn't stop until he gets to the front door, but Sherlock reaches it first and presses his back against it, blocking John.

John looks at Sherlock's face, and they stand there for a few moments, not looking away. John glances down at Sherlock's mouth but shut his eyes and mutters "Stop it," Under his breath.

"I didn't do anything." Sherlock replies, confused.

John shakes his head, "No, I- It-I'm…" He exhales slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. "It's fine." He realizes he's just a bit too close to Sherlock for comfort. He takes a few steps back and Sherlock relaxes his stature. They stand there for a couple more moments not speaking and not looking at each other. The air between them which had started out chilly started to warm. The tension in John's hands lessened and grew slack.

Sherlock knows John is changing his mind. This pleases him and he feels a bit of…relief? Is that what that is? He isn't sure, but he welcomes it. It comforts him. He reaches over and puts his hand on John's and slips the suitcase from his grip. John obliges without complaint and walks back to the couch. Sherlock lets out the breath he had been holding in and climbs up the stairs to return John's possessions to his room, where they belong.


	5. Lunch

I've had people asking so here are a couple of answers:

This story is set months after 'A Scandal in Belgravia' and 'Hounds of Baskerville' has not happened.

This fic isn't one where Johnlock happens easily. Sherlock really is oblivious and John has to try harder to get his attention.

Enjoy the chapter! :)

Chapter 5

The next several days go by alarmingly slow. Before the fight, 221B had been warm and cozy. Strict and often times rushed, but it had been comfortable. John and Sherlock could do what they wanted and be completely at ease, but now there was something anxious constantly hanging in the air between them. Sherlock found himself going out of his way to make physical contact with John, something he'd never bothered doing before.

He'd be up before John in the mornings and make tea in time for him to get out of bed. When he'd hand the mug to John, he'd let his hands brush against his, ever so slightly. Not enough for John to notice, but enough for Sherlock to be sure he was still there. The first couple of days following the fight, Sherlock found himself unable to sleep. He was too afraid to wake up and find John gone and the flat empty.

Now when they depart from the flat, Sherlock asks John to join him at Scotland Yard, rather than his usual bark of 'John!' which would be enough to tell him to put his coat on and follow Sherlock out. Now Sherlock lays a hand on his shoulder and actually asks with words, rather than his tone alone. He didn't know why he was doing it but he knew John liked it. And if John was happy and didn't start another fight, then Sherlock would continue to be nice and thoughtful and considerate, even though he found it tiresome and wished he could go back to the normal routine where John didn't expect what his personality just didn't provide naturally.

Because it took _effort_ to be this nice. Sure, he knows what a friend is and knows what they do for each other. The only problem is, he actually had to think his thoughts through before he said them aloud. He had to weigh his words carefully. He had to remember that normal people eat at regular intervals everyday and not 3 or four times a week like Sherlock had made a habit of doing for years. He had to remember people needed to sleep through the night, so playing his violin at 1 in the morning was out of the question. He had to remember that saying 'please' and 'thank you' when asking for a favor wasn't strictly required, but it brightened up John's composure when he did.

They hadn't heard word from Irene the entire week. Sherlock was sure she would text him in the days following her unceremonious farewell, but his phone failed to light up with her name even once. It hadn't, however, stopped vibrating with calls and texts from the girls, Saira's being the most prominent.

_Hey, Sherlock are you alright? –x _

_You left rather abruptly last night, is something wrong? –x _

_Is there a case? Can I help you with it? –x _

_Good morning. –x _

_Are you ever going to answer your phone? –Jo _

_Jo and I are starting to worry. –x _

_Isn't there some case Lestrade could assign you? I can't work unless you're there. –x _

_It's been 3 days and you still haven't answered. –Jo _

_Did Jo say something to you? –x _

_Is John alright? He hasn't been texting me back. –x _

_Are you both ok? –x _

_Did I do something wrong? –x _

_You can tell me if I've done something to upset you. –x_

_Was it that thing I said about your shirts fitting a pre-pubescent boy? –x _

_I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. –x _

_Are you ever going to text me back? –x _

But Sherlock hadn't texted her back. He'd ignored a few calls from Lestrade as well. He didn't care. He wanted to make absolutely sure he and John were on good terms before leaving the flat together. He didn't want there to be tension when they were with company because they would no doubt pick up on it and question it. That may bring around the mention of the cause of all this and Sherlock couldn't have that. Not when John was starting to act normal again.

…

John hadn't been completely oblivious to Sherlock's change in demeanor. He'd noticed it the first time Sherlock had made him tea. He never made tea, even for himself. He'd make breakfast afterwards and actually sat down a few times with him to eat. He ate a lot less than John, but he still ate. John was shocked to see Sherlock actually sit down, chew and swallow food. He'd come home from the surgery to find Sherlock playing his violin by the window and a hot dinner already on the table.

He'd join John on the sofa some evenings to watch crap telly with him. And he never once opened his mouth to protest or yell at the show's stupidity. He took walks and asked John to accompany him. Sherlock _never_ just went out for recreational exercise.

It was starting to concern John to be honest. He knew Sherlock wouldn't be able to keep this up for long, and when he got tired of it, he'll lash out. He'll pick a fight or slip up and insult John. Sherlock tries not to do so, John knows this, but he can't deny they do sting sometimes. He also understands Sherlock has no filter, so he lets them slip, but the sting is still there.

The girls had texted him all week also. This didn't annoy John. They were concerned, and they had right to be. Their departure had been too abrupt, too cold. And now they were both ignoring texts and calls and he knew it was only a matter of time before they came to the flat to make sure they weren't dead the whole time. He didn't want them coming and seeing Sherlock and himself just sitting around the flat like nothing was wrong while Jo and Saira had been worrying for their well-being.

It was for this reason, on the seventh day of their quiet reconciliation, that John finally broke the silence between Sherlock and himself over breakfast.

"You know, the girls have been texting me." He pauses to spread some more jam on his toast. Sherlock says nothing but continues to read the paper, but John knows he's listening.

"I haven't texted or called them back, but I think they're starting to worry." Sherlock turns the page in reply. John takes a bite of toast and waits for him to say they'd been texting him as well, but his eyes stay glued to the paper, unmoving.

"I think we should call them back. Get another case going, yeah? Saira has nothing to do during the mornings until Jo comes home 'round 3 in the afternoon." John had managed to vouch for Jo and had gotten her a job at the surgery. Unfortunately, she worked morning shifts and John worked afternoons. This was the only reason he had not seen her all week.

Sherlock puts down the paper at the mention of Saira's name and looks at John. His face is expressionless. After a moment, he picks his paper back up and gives a curt nod. John swallows the last of his tea and exhales, wondering if he should text or call back. Texting would make him feel guilty about contacting their friends after their absence in such an impersonal way. But calling back ran the risk of hearing the worry in Jo's voice and the disapproval of their actions. He was also a bit worried she may yell at him.

He goes into his room to get his phone, leaving Sherlock at the table. He leaves the door open so Sherlock can hear the conversation, because John knows he wants to hear. After scrolling through his contacts, he finds Jo's name and presses the call button. It's Sunday so he knows it's her day off. She'll be at the flat or doing some shopping. She isn't one to sit at home with nothing to do. The dial tone rings once. Twice. Three times. He hears a click as someone answers.

"John?" Comes a voice.

"Yeah, Jo?" He answers.

"John, what is going on?" She demands. "You just left last Sunday with us sitting here in our own muck!"

"Jo-" But she cuts him off.

"Not a single text or call from either of you! We were so worried, but we couldn't go to your flat. Do you have any idea how much it upset Saira?"

"Jo, I'm- _We're_ very sorry." He pauses, letting her breathe and take the words in. "Can we get together today? Go out to dinner or something? Everything's fine now."

"Are you ever going to tell us what the hell happened?" Jo asks.

"Umm," John hesitates, not knowing whether Sherlock wanted to disclose any information on the matter with the girls. But then he realizes that even if Sherlock doesn't, John still does. "Yes, I'll explain everything. Can we all just go out to dinner or lunch or something? It's been lonely in this flat."

"Yes, of course. But it will just be me. Saira's not feeling well. She's been in bed since Friday night."

"Is something wrong with her?" John says in a low voice. He doesn't want Sherlock coming in and snatching his phone away in the middle of the conversation.

"She just keeps saying she's tired. I don't really know. She doesn't have a fever or any aches. Just tired. That's all she keeps repeating." And John can hear the concern in her voice.

"Is she refusing conversation? Would she want to speak if I see her?"

"Yes, she talks. She's not shutting anyone out. She just lays in bed and watches telly."

"Alright, well I'll take a cab and be at your flat in a couple hours, yes?" John asks.

"Sure." She pauses. "Thank you for calling back, John."

"Yeah," he answers, not really knowing how to respond. They say their goodbyes and hang up. John walks back downstairs where it seems Sherlock hasn't moved. But John knows better.

"I'm meeting Jo for lunch. Want to come?" He asks.

"Busy." Sherlock responds, not looking at him, but still staring at the paper. John nods and makes toward the bathroom to shower before leaving.

"I'm sure she's fine, Sherlock. But you should go visit, at least."

Sherlock watches him while he walks away.

…

A couple hours later, John knocks on the door of the girls' flat. It doesn't even take ten seconds for Jo to open it. She hugs John upon entering. She was truly happy to see him. He returns the hug without question.

"Sorry I snapped at you earlier." Jo apologizes. "I was just surprised you finally called back and I was still worried about Saira."

He waves it off. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure I deserved much worse." He smiles at her.

"Well, you're right about _that_." She pushes his shoulder playfully.

"Is Saira any better?" He asks.

Jo shakes her head. "She's taking a nap right now. She was awake for a couple of hours this morning but she went back to sleep after your call."

John nods, wondering what could be wrong. It wasn't like Saira to be in bed watching telly. She preferred to read or take walks or visit her grandmother. John looks at Jo more closely. She has the beginnings of dark bags under her eyes. She's fiddling with the pendant around her neck. He's never seen her look worried. She's usually all smiley and happy, but then again, he's never really seen her more than an arm's length away from Saira. John wonders then what it must be like for Jo. She's in a completely new country. The food is different. The language is different. The accents are different. She has to learn new words for small things. (Like the time she had to ask what a torch was and Saira had to explain it was a flashlight.) John knows she must feel very lonely at times, but he also knows Saira is always right there, at her side. And she hardly ever gives Jo a moment to think on the home she left behind. He lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder and they leave for a little café to eat lunch.

…

John and Jo are laughing an hour later over their meals. They're exchanging 'Roommates from Hell' stories. John, unsurprisingly, was winning.

John told her of all the body parts he finds in the fridge and how Sherlock makes room for them by leaving the perishable foods out on the counter. Jo tells him of Saira's books back at their apartment in America and how there almost isn't a single flat surface not piled with them. John tells her of Sherlock's violin playing at 4 in the morning and Jo retaliates with Saira's 10 hour piano concerts in the living room. John complains about getting left behind at crime scenes by Sherlock. Jo answers with Saira's lack of conversation for days on end and how she sometimes didn't leave the lab from dawn till dusk. John gets ahead by telling her of all the times he's stared down the barrel of a gun for Sherlock. All the suspect chases and the times he nearly died, or watched Sherlock die…He doesn't elaborate on the latter.

"That sounds horrible!" Jo giggles when John tells her of the time he and his date had gotten kidnapped because the cast of a Chinese Circus thought he was Sherlock.

"Honestly," she continues after taking a sip of her drink. "If I didn't know how brilliant Sherlock was and how well you two got along, I would ask why you still live with him."

John nods. "And Saira doesn't sound too bad compared to him." He takes a sip of his own drink. "You two really care about each other, don't you?"

Jo smiles. "She's my best friend." She agrees.

"And you take care of her?" John asks.

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No, not really. I mean, we both take care of each other. We look out for one another and help each other as best we can. I would be lying if I said I take care of her more."

John considers this. He remembers all the little things Saira does for her. He'd noticed once when they were walking back to their flat after dinner, it was a crisp night, and Jo's jacket hadn't been thick enough to weather the cold. Saira had put on her leather gloves and given Jo the coat she was wearing. Saira was also usually the one who paid for Jo's dinner. Jo would say she'd get it, but Saira always refused. And from what Jo had mentioned earlier, Saira was also the one shouldering the majority of the rent. John knew all this and couldn't help but wonder…

"How do you help her?" He asks.

She bites her lip thoughtfully. "Well, Saira can be a bit…enthusiastic about things. And sometimes she doesn't know how to calm down or distinguish the right way to react to a situation. She's sensitive to people's feelings but when she gets started on a case, she gets _really_ happy. I've told her before, it's not healthy, but I don't think she understands."

"She's also very stubborn." Jo continues. "When she wants something done, she doesn't stop until it's finished. I have to remind her to sleep at times. And she's _so_ competitive. She likes to win a lot. And if someone dares her or challenges her to do something, you can believe she'll do it."

"Wait, I don't understand. How exactly do you help her?" John asks, confused.

"I calm her down." Jo replies matter-of-factly. "Sometimes she needs someone there to rein her in. I can't just let her run around solving murders. She's almost like a child in a way."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

Jo shakes her head. "Oh God, no. Saira's always so serious about everything. It's proper _this_ and proper _that._ It's always corrections and _Jo, that's not very ladylike._ Or, _a lady wouldn't behave like this._ I know it sounds bad, but cases are like her playground. It's where she deserts all her propriety and just lets herself go. She lets herself think in ways she hadn't before and she does things she wouldn't do without the motivation of a suspect pursuit. When she's in her element, that's when I come in. To make sure she doesn't go too far or say something she doesn't mean. When we're alone or with friendly company," she indicates John, "She's lovely, and respectful, and charming. I guess that's why it doesn't bother me."

John nods as he listens. That makes a lot of sense. It almost reminds him of his relationship with Sherlock. Except in his case, Sherlock doesn't seem to turn off his true nature at all. Something nags at him.

"Why is it so important to be ladylike for her?" He asks.

Jo shrugs. "I honestly don't know. She's been that way since before we met at Uni. I've never asked. Everyone is different, I figured I had no right to question her. As long as she wasn't like all those other loose girls in my dorm, I was perfectly content with having her as a roommate."

"She always disapproved of those girls." She continues. "She's never said why. And the sorority girls sometimes picked on her."

"What?" John said, disbelieving.

"Well, _picked on_ isn't really the right phrase. Sometimes they sort of mocked her. Behind her back. She either didn't notice or she ignored it. They'd make snide comments and would always bring up her relationship status. I had a few boyfriends during college. She never did."

"Really? Not even one?" Asks John, wondering how someone as smart and attractive as Saira couldn't land a boyfriend.

"Now, I'm not sure about here, but in America, the smart girls aren't usually the ones being courted. She was always busy either way. I don't know about before we met. We don't really talk about relationships. They're not very important to her. What about Sherlock?"

John chuckles. "You really think Sherlock has the time or patience for a relationship?"

Jo shakes her head, "I guess you're right. But hasn't he ever even taken notice of anyone?"

John sighs, "Actually, that's sort of what last week was about."

Jo's eyes widen and she sets her drink down. "Ok, what happened ,John?" She asks, leaning forward. They had been avoiding the subject in an effort to ease the tension.

"You know that text message Sherlock received last week?" She nods. "Well, it was from someone we haven't seen in months." He pauses, thinking of the best way to word this.

"It was from a woman. She was the only woman I've ever known Sherlock to take an interest in. We had a case on her last year. You've read it in my blog. The Irene Adler case?"

"Oh yes, I have, but it was rather short. There wasn't much to go on."

"Well what I never included in there was that, well…Sherlock fancied her."

Jo blinks at him. "What?" She states.

"Sherlock fancied her." He repeats, really hoping he doesn't have to say it again. "She was brilliant, and beautiful, and clever. She was very clever. She almost got what she had worked for but Sherlock outwitted her at the last minute, of course. She'd gone and we'd hoped we were done with her. A couple months after that, Mycroft came to me and told me she was dead. We weren't to tell Sherlock of this obviously. She'd faked her death before and, though he'll never admit it, he was heartbroken. Or as close to heartbroken as someone like Sherlock can get."

"Mycroft told me to inform him she was in a witness protection scheme in America. Until last Sunday, I believed her to be long dead. I still don't know whether Sherlock knew the truth or if he'd believed me when I told him she was in witness protection. I'm not too keen on admitting I'd lied to him."

"So if it's been months since you've seen her, why is she contacting you now?" Jo asks.

"She told us that an old friend of ours was back. And that he was after her." John said, clenching his fist under the table.

"So she came to ask for help?"

"Yeah. She doesn't deserve it, after what she tried to do. But Sherlock was…he wanted to help her. I convinced him not to."

"But, why? I mean, if someone asks for your help, shouldn't you do everything you can to do so?"

John shakes his head. "No, Jo. You don't understand. You don't know her. You don't know what she's capable of. You don't know what _Moriarty_ is capable of. They'll do anything to win."

"So why did you two shut yourselves up in your flat for a week if you weren't doing anything?"

"Well we had fought on Sunday and Monday morning." John explains, trying to keep his voice even. The memory of seeing Irene in their flat was burning in his mind.

"We both thought it best to cool off before going anywhere. I honestly thought we would have more fights, but it was mostly just silent treatment. I'm sorry we didn't answer your texts or calls. We didn't want you seeing us like that."

He puts his hand over the one Jo has placed on the table. "But don't worry, everything should be fine now. We're not arguing anymore and we hope to not see Irene again."

Jo gives a weak smile. "But what about Moriarty?"

"What about him?"

Jo shrugs. "If she says he's back, what does that mean for us?"

"Us?" John asks, puzzled.

Jo laughs. "Do you really think Saira is going to let you deal with this on your own?"

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. She's talking about getting involved in the case. John hass a mental picture of both Saira and Jo strapped in semtex like he was. He imagines them wearing earpieces that let a low, scathing voice invade their ears. They're sitting in the dark, not daring to move or speak. John and Sherlock search frantically for them and when they do, all they see are the little red dots of lasers shining all over their bodies…

John shakes his head, trying to banish the horrible images. "No, no. Oh no. Uh uh, no way. You cannot get involved in this. Do you understand, Jo? You can't. This isn't your fight. It's not your concern." He stares at her seriously. He has to make her understand that this isn't just a simple case. It's not one where Saira can head off to the crime scene with Sherlock and solve it in a manner of hours. It's not one Saira can walk away from at the end of the day and return home to Jo, safe and sound.

"But why?"

"Moriarty doesn't even know about you. I'll not have 2 innocent people getting into this mess. It wouldn't be fair to you. This fight is mine and Sherlock's."

Jo shakes her head. "No, from what you wrote on your blog and from what you've told us before about him, he's only after Sherlock."

"Yes and?"

"That means it's not your fight either." Jo states.

John sighs. "He's my friend, Jo. I'll practically do anything for him. Whether he likes it or not, sometimes he needs someone there by his side."

Jo puts her other hand over John's. "And you just proved my point." She said, her eyes shining. "We're not going to you leave you alone on this."

She smiles to reassure him, and he manages a smile back, but he's still uneasy. He and Sherlock will have to discuss this new development.


End file.
